floor, he saw the armed Karens gathering outside and knew that he and
Malibu had very little choice in the matter.
1300 hours, 18 January
Dirty Shirt Wardroom, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
Tombstone leaned back from the table, his mind racing furiously. He was
unaware of the clatter of silverware and dishes in the mess, or the low
murmur of conversation among the other officers around him. The
submarine sandwich he’d bought lay untouched on his tray. He’d been
chewing on the problem of Batman and Malibu for three hours now, and he
could think of little else.
CAG had said there would be no SAR flights off the Jefferson, that the
Thais were insisting on handling the search for Batman and Malibu
themselves.
It was possible that the other problems breaking loose–rumors of
invasion in the north and an impending coup in the city–were enough to
make them sidestep the whole issue. The two Americans could easily get
lost in the cracks.
But there were many ways to address the problem. The Thais didn’t want
massive U.S. intervention, and Tombstone could appreciate that … but
what about a single plane on TARPS recon? Sure, it had been a TARPS
aircraft which had been shot down the first time, but that didn’t mean
it would happen again.
Perhaps a flight of RTAF planes in the area could be diverted as escort.
They were supposed to be up there looking for Batman anyway, weren’t
they?
CAG had mentioned that Batman and Malibu might have gone down on the
Burmese side of the line … but what if they hadn’t? Or what if they
were close to the line, a few miles to the north, close enough that a
friendly plane making a sweep could pick up their SAR broadcast? At
least Jefferson would know then that they were alive, and could work out
a decent plan for bringing them out.
And maybe the Thais, with all of their political problems, would
actually be glad to be rid of this one extra problem. If he played his
cards right on this one, maybe the Thais would wind up asking for his
help …
What was the That liaison officer’s name? Kriangsak. Maybe there was
someone in his office he could talk to. CAG had told him yesterday to
take an evening off. He wasn’t scheduled for duty this night … so why
not? He could check out with CAG after chow and catch a bus into
Bangkok.
The chances were that no one in the That bureaucracy would be able to
help, but at least, Tombstone thought, he’d be trying to do something.
it was better than moping in the wardroom, picking at his food and
feeling sorry for himself. And besides, he might get lucky.
1015 hours, 18 January
Admiral’s office, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
“Come in.” Admiral Magruder looked up from his desk as Captain
Fitzgerald and Vince Glover, the ship’s Exec, walked in. He knew there
was trouble by the look on their faces, before they even said a word.
“Let’s have it.”
“We’ve got a strange report, Admiral,” Fitzgerald said. “Tell him,
Vince.”
“There’s a kid down in CATCC, Admiral, SA Howard. I just got a call
from his chief. Seems he thinks three of his shipmates were kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped? That’s a new one.”
“The guys he’s named are AWOL, sir,” the Exec said. “The chief said he
figured it was a … uh … rather imaginative attempt by Howard to keep
his buddies out of trouble. But if they did just miss the last bus,
they could’ve caught the first one this morning. It kind of lends
credence to the story.”
“How sure is Howard of his facts?”
“Hell, Admiral, this is an eighteen-year-old. He’s not sure of
anything.
I think he’s still freaked out by his first time ashore in Bangkok.”
Magruder chuckled. “The city has that effect.”
“But he’s sure enough to be pretty excited about it,” the Captain added.
“He insists that if it was all a joke, his buddies would’ve been back
aboard before he was. I’ve reviewed these men’s records. They’re all
steady. No reason to think they might desert.”
“Who were the victims?”
“Radarman Third Paterowski. Signalman Third Bentley. Seaman